


Fated

by matan4il



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Sexting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Nude Photos, Sexting, mentions of the other bat fam members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12888828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matan4il/pseuds/matan4il
Summary: Is it an accident if it feels like it’s always been fated to happen?Dick discovers he accidentally sent Bruce nude photos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkyRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyRose/gifts).



> I tried to combine two prompts into one fill, possibly achieving neither one being truly what was asked for. I tried, though. I hope you enjoy it all the same. Happy Holidays!
> 
> ~ I'd like to see a lighthearted get-together fic about Dick and Bruce. Maybe Dick is home for the holidays and the two spend a lot of time with eachother. Other members of the batfam playing matchmaker? For example, Alfred decorating the manor with a ridiculous amount of mistletoe.
> 
> ~ Dick "accidentally" sends Bruce a suggestive pic, causing the two to begin trade more suggestive and sexy pics/texts and maybe even a phone call.

Is it an accident if it feels like it’s always been fated to happen? 

Dick’s love for Bruce had been blooming in his chest in so many different ways since the very first second the heir to the Wayne family fortune took him in. It was always blossoming in beautiful, colorful petals. Growing and stretching through painful, wounding thorns. Bruce’s house and heart had instantly become home to Dick, had been the possibility of life, really. Had been the safest of havens. What other choice was there for the young orphan boy, but to love Bruce with everything he had in him? Dick saw all those things Bruce had given him and more every time he looked at his guardian - his angel is Dick’s muted thought - and it was always odd to him that Bruce hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t realized one simple, inevitable truth. That when one experiences every other type of love, eventually it is unavoidable for it not to grow and incorporate this as well. Lust.

It was lust, in fact, that drove him to take those pictures on his cell phone in the first place. Slightly unusual selfies, a tiny bit shaky, not so explicit as to make it completely clear what was going on there, but suggestive enough for him to be able to vividly recall what he was doing when he took the photographs every time he looked at them. Writhing. Naked and shameless on the covers-free bed. Moaning for Bruce. Imagining it was his big, long fingers, Batman’s impossibly capable hands, penetrating him in those moments.

Of course it was an accident. What else could it have been? Dick would never have dared do anything to risk their relationship. It meant too much to him. And he knew. Those beautiful, rich, perfumed young (as well as some slightly older) women who kept throwing themselves at Bruce didn’t have his heart. What they got from him was a charade and they seemed to adore it and thrive. Bruce could never love anyone who would be happy with the image he was projecting in those social circumstances. They didn’t pose any real competition. But the man behind the mask also couldn’t love Dick. That would seem wrong to his mentor in more ways than one. And if there ever was one obstacle that Bruce would never be able to overcome, it was his own sense of morals. 

It was difficult enough for Dick to succeed in becoming Robin. He had to practically force the hand of the man who took him in for the sake of his safety, had to impose on him the reality of a side kick. Even that only really worked after Dick had gone and put himself deliberately in the line of danger, leaving Bruce no other choice but to save Dick from himself by training him. And at the end, it almost broke them and their bond during those times when Bruce couldn’t handle incidents where Dick’s life was almost snuffed out by their enemies. They had somehow survived those periods of time and came out better and stronger as crime fighting partners, but it all left Dick with little desire to test their relationship by confessing the passion consuming him. ‘Wrong’, he could hear Bruce’s disapproving, barely audible growl, ‘this is wrong’, and it wouldn’t matter if that would have been aimed at Dick or at himself. Bruce would break their relationship, he instinctively would choose to walk away, rather than allow himself anything that would offend his moral code.

So it’s with a sense of growing horror that Dick scrolls through his phone one morning just to realize he had quite a few of those compromising pictures in his ‘sent’ folder. A wave of petrified shock comes over him when he registers that they were sent to no other but the one man who must never see them. And it’s an extreme form of nausea that overtakes him when the cold, hard fact hits him. That he’s about to lose Bruce. So what could it have been other than an accident?


	2. Chapter 2

The night before, he had been extremely tired at the end of his patrol. He couldn’t remember anything out of the ordinary, but he must have been so exhausted while he was sending Bruce his text messages at the end of his patrol, just their standard update when another night is uneventfully over, that he probably didn’t notice when he hit the wrong keys. This is how the pictures must have been sent out. He has no other explanation. Panic is about to take over him, but Dick knows he must spring into action before it does and paralyzes him. If he can just get to Bruce’s phone in time and delete those photos first, then he won’t have to answer awkward questions, nor face his partner knowing the man had seen a reflection of Dick’s deepest desires and still didn’t want him. He grabs the keys to his motorbike and heads for the manor as quickly as he can get there, praying Bruce is in some early training session and hasn’t had the chance to see anything yet.

The manor is quiet when he enters it and Dick knows exactly where he’s headed, Bruce’s study is where he keeps his phone a large portion of the time, especially when he’s training or resting. Dick’s about to take the stairs up there two at a time, possibly three, because everything in him is wired up to the max and in need to unleash that energy, when a voice calls out to him. Alfred. Calling from the kitchen. Good old Alfred, what would he say if he knew? Dick can’t ponder that right now, he has to get to the study. He’ll have to dismiss Alfred’s call, but he doesn’t want to draw Bruce’s attention to his presence there, to anything unusual that may cause the man to quickly check his phone for any alerts. He’ll have to go to Alfred, make an excuse and get to the study as soon as he can. 

Dick walks over and tries to think up a pretext for why he has to go to the study straight away. When he gets to the kitchen, something about Alfred strikes him as… ‘off’ is not quite the word, but Dick can’t think of another. The veteran butler is moving about the room strangely and at first glance, it seems like he might have hurt his leg. Dick rushes over, demanding to know if that’s the case. Alfred tries to calm him down. 

“Young master, it’s but a minor case of bruising from having fallen this morning. No need to get too sentimental, a bit of help around here would suffice”. 

Dick feels unconvinced, he tries to argue for Alfred to let him have a look at the bruising, but the man who had been a father figure to him for so many years refuses and insists the only way Dick can help is by assisting him with getting to certain items around the kitchen. He uses his ‘no argument to be had here’ voice, so it takes a good fifteen minutes, maybe even a bit more, of reaching top shelves on opposite sides of the vast kitchen before Dick realizes he’s lost track of his original goal. The study, while there’s still a chance that Bruce hadn’t seen his messages.

“Alfred, nature calls, I’ll be right back,” he says, but can see the refusal forming in Alfred’s eyes before his sentence is even half done. And that’s a whole different kind of being off. Dick wonders for a split second whether Alfred knows, whether he had somehow seen the pictures on Bruce’s phone. He couldn’t, though. Alfred would never betray Bruce’s confidence like that, not to mention his aversion to smart phones in general. ‘Phones are for talking. Anything beyond is showing off’, he’s told the younger members of the bat family more than once, usually when they were begging to have one.

“Master Richard, I’m most displeased at this evident attempt to con your way out of aiding me. It’s not every day your assistance is required here and I would have thought you’d be more than happy to rise to the challenge”.

This stuns Dick a bit, he doesn’t remember when was the last time he was scolded this way by Alfred. Before he has a chance to figure out a way of replying, a figure looms in the doorway. Dick has his back to the door, but he knows. This is Bruce, so he always knows.


	3. Chapter 3

“Master Bruce, how are you this morning?”

It’s Alfred’s question, but Dick is the one straining to hear the answer. He listens for every nuance and sure enough, there is something there when Bruce, seemingly casual, retorts with, “I’m fine. Is everything alright here?”

“Master Richard was just helping me out in the kitchen.”

“Has he now?” And there is definitely something wrong, Bruce tries to sound focused, but he’s distracted or he would never have let this slide without enquiring why does Alfred need help in the realm that has been under his sole rule for as long as Dick can recall.

“Actually, I was on my way to the bathroom,” Dick said and this time Bruce’s presence spurs him into action, truning and feeling the room before Alfred will have a chance to utter a single word of objection. He does hear two distinct voices coming from behind him, but he’s too far already to be able to tell what they’re saying, running up the stairs as he clings to a last shred of hope.

When Dick bursts through the big doors to the study, he doesn’t need too long to assess the situation. Bruce’s phone has its own regular corner, charger always prepared there for it (though Bruce’s phone has a ridiculously long battery life seeing as how it has been especially built by him in the bat cave, all in an effort to make it hack-proof). The charger is there, in its regular corner, but the phone is it. The odds that Bruce haven’t seen the photos are slim to none. Suddenly, Dick’s legs can’t seem to hold him up and he has to sit down. He slumps into the closest armchair, wishing he could be swollen up whole in it. He thinks he might be having a dizzy spell too, as he seems unable to focus on anything in the room.

Just then, Bruce enters the study and comes over to crouch beside the armchair. It’s disconcerting for Dick, being a hair’s breadth away from the man he loves, feeling his closeness so intimately, a second before he knows he’s going to lose it forever.

“Dick?” Bruce’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle and somehow, that hurts more. “Is everything alright?” 

Dick tries to move his lips in response, but no sound comes out. A warm, sturdy hand makes its way to his shoulder. Bruce comforting him a second before it will all be snatched away. He tries again, bolder this time. If it hurts anyway, he has nothing to lose by bringing the end faster.

“I know you’ve seen the pictures, Bruce,” his voice is not as steady as he would have liked it to be. “And I’m aware you’re not going to believe me, but they were sent to you by mistake. I promise, they were.”

“Oh.” Bruce doesn’t sound as comforting anymore and it’s the harsh reality Dick was scared of. He was right, he’s not convincing enough and it’s about to cost him everything. “Who were they meant for, then?”

That was not the question he was anticipating, but he has to sell it now. “Just this guy that I know from college”.

Bruce’s hand withdraws and Dick’s shoulder has never felt this cold.

“Is he… Is he treating you well?”

Dick doesn’t know what to say. Bruce’s question seems distant and something about the way it’s been posed comes across as calculated to him. His own voice sounds so feeble to him, it seems ridiculous that Bruce isn’t seeing right through him. So what is this, some way of toying with him, trying to get him to admit the unacceptable truth on his own accord? Batman and his stern, roundabout forms of dealing out discipline coming out when they’re supposed to be just them, no pretenses? The thought angers him.

“He’s great. I mean, it’s all still very new, but he’s been absolutely fantastic so far. Considerate and romantic, you know, the whole shebang.” Dick dares to look up at Bruce, eyes firm, determined he won’t be broken down too easily. To his surprise, he doesn’t meet a confronting look. Instead of the silent reproach at the obvious lie he was expecting to fight off with his stubbornness, he finds Bruce looking away to the side, seeming almost… saddened. That’s the one thing that’s worse to Dick than an angry Bruce, a sad one. His heart skips a bit and he has to remember himself, the weakness he felt standing up just moments earlier, to fight off the overwhelming want to hug Bruce and make him feel warm and better. Loved.

There’s a slight nod of the head. A brief movement of the hands as if Bruce is shoving them even further in his pockets than he already seemed to have when he stood up. They’re fists, Dick notices from the way the pants pockets material stretches over them. None of this makes sense to him, he doesn’t know how to read this situation anymore. What to say. Despite himself, determination makes room for fear again.

“That’s good,” Bruce finally says. “Just make sure it stays that way. And that you don’t accidentally text pictures like that to any of the boys,” he turns and slowly exists the study.


	4. Chapter 4

“Master Richard, are you not staying to dine with us?” Of course Alfred is not going to let him leave unnoticed, minimizing his defeat. Dick lifts his gaze towards him, taking in the kindly face and even though his first instinct is to give some sassy retort, he can’t at that moment.

“I’m tired, Alfred. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d prefer not to.”

Alfred tilts his head, saying nothing and for what feels like an unbearably long moment, he’s searching Dick’s face for something. Whatever it is, all the young man is hoping for is not to have an argument when he’s feeling so emotionally drained.

“Then you best come in and have a seat while I prepare for you some nourishment to take with you,” Alfred finally says and Dick is too thankful for not having to insist he must leave and being asked to explain why that he’s willing to accept a brief delay in his departure. After all, it appears as if the coast is clear for now in any case, no sign of Bruce coming back down for now. He closed himself in his bedroom right after their short talk in the study and whatever he’s thinking of there, Dick is pretty certain he doesn’t want to hear about it.

The kitchen is full of hot and delicious fragrances, there’s a pot of thick soup on the stove, chicken in the oven, several more dishes cooling down a bit on the marble counter and if Dick didn’t know any better, he’d think they’re getting ready to host some dignitaries. He does, though. This is just a typical meal for Alfred. Dick would be concerned about the wastefulness, but it’s an undiscussed open secret at the manor that Alfred likes his boys well fed and taken care of, opting to always have more food than may be necessary, and the rest he always makes sure to pack up and sent to the Gotham City Orphanage. The place where Dick would have ended up if it weren’t for Bruce. The thought brings with it simultaneously a sense of gratitude and a pang of pain stabbing at Dick’s heart. The thought of the man he loves, the fate he saved him from, interlacing all that is light in Dick’s life and all that has to remain in darkness.

“Young sir, would you mind terribly stirring the soup for a short while? My leg is bothering me once more and is in need of rest. I should be back briefly.” Alfred presents his words as a question, but without waiting for an answer, he moves to leave the kitchen before he can fully register the semi-automatic nod he gets in reply. Dick can’t form proper words, he’s having trouble concentrating, the air in his lungs somehow feeling too much and not enough at the same time. No disaster has taken place, he tries to remind himself. Bruce took the bait, he did not reject you, nothing’s changed on the surface of things. What more could he ask for? But something has for him, he realizes as he stares at the bubbling, thick liquid he’s aimlessly moving the large wooden spoon through. His last hope, the one he hadn’t known he even had, was further diminished.

The glass of the window right above the stove starts getting filled with a million tiny, transparent drops of water. Rain. Dick would normally grimace at the prospect of riding back out in the rain and cold, but at that moment it strikes him as being weirdly appropriate.

He hears footsteps behind him, but to his surprise, Alfred doesn’t return alone. When Dick turns around he’s hit with the reality of Bruce all over again, there and not his, not ever, a thirst he can never quench. Why is he here? A quick glance from one man’s face to the other’s and he can tell Bruce is wondering the same thing.

“Alfred? I thought you said you needed some help in the kitchen, but… you already have it?” The sentence leaving Bruce’s lips is spoken in such a way that Dick knows he already has an inkling on what Alfred is up to before it’s done. When he comes to think of it, Dick registers that the mild limp that seemed to be present in Alfred’s walk earlier is gone.

“Now gentlemen, from the way master Richard was about to leave, I take it that the talk you must have had about the photographs from last night did not bear the fruits that I was hoping for.” Alfred’s facial expression is stoic and precise, as if he had finished his statement on an exclamation mark rather than a stop. It gives nothing away that would correlate in whatever way with the storm that befalls Dick’s mind. And maybe that makes more sense than the panic, the urgency and dread and overtake him, because surely it can’t be right. Surely, Alfred couldn’t have been aware of the explicit pictures that ended up on Bruce’s phone or could have had any expectations regarding them…


	5. Chapter 5

Dick wants to lash out, he wants to scream all of his question marks, but he’s paralyzed. Bruce does his job for him with a simple raise of the eyebrow and the way he says the butler’s name, “Alfred?”

“Young Sir, do not take that tone with me. I have taken care of you and I have done my best to be a father to you where you needed one. I have seen you become a fine man. Someone I am indeed most proud to serve. Yet, Master Bruce… I have seen how lonely you are, as well. What has distressed me most of all is that you needn’t be. Not when you love and are loved as you should be, right underneath this very roof.”

Bruce lets out a stunned “Alfred…” which only abruptly stops the man’s flow.

“Hear me out. Because for the better part of the last year, I have been trying to help open your eyes to each other and the feelings you both share. It took a short while, but then I recognized the task at hand is a more demanding one than I had previously realized. This is why I have enlisted the help of every member of our little family…”

“Alfred!” This time, it’s Dick’s turn to cut him short and the blush he can feel rise in his cheeks is clear evidence of what his thoughts turn to as he listens to the butler’s confession and figures out what he is aiming for. Just how many people have seen Dick’s pictures? 

“Worry not, only two people helped me with the photographs and in both cases it was age appropriate. Though you may have trouble reaching them by phone until they’ve had the time to recover. Be that as it may, I regret nothing, for drastic measures were evidently called for. As you stand here right now, though, it seems not even that has helped. You need not admit to me in what ways you’ve circumvented the truth of your feelings once again, but I do hope you will see sense and do so no more. Master Bruce,” Alfred turns in his direction, “you deserve love and there is nothing wrong or unacceptable in loving a worthy young man who returns your affections. Master Richard,” his caring eyes fall on Dick’s, “be assured that there is no one who holds Master Wayne’s heart but you. There never has been. And now, least you try to worm your way out of facing each by using me, I shall be you good day.” He sternly walks out of the kitchen, head held high. As if he has to. As if the flood’s going to come in any minute now and there is no other possible course of action.

Dick’s eyes are still transfixed on the spot where Alfred’s figure has vanished from sight. His mind is continuing to reel too, struggling to make sense of what he’s just heard. 

But then, Bruce. Does Dick really have his heart? That wonder has to be answered, the need for it to be pushes back all other puzzlements and dreads as Dick allows his gaze to find the man at the center of this mystery. Their eyes meet, Dick didn’t know if they would, and his own must be as defenseless as Bruce’s because he can see and feel everything. They need no words. There was a distance between them, Dick’s sure of that, but somehow it’s gone now and they find each other, hands softly touching, tracing lines they only prayed to get to touch. Dick closes his eyes and feels Bruce’s fingers along the edges of his cheeks, his jaw, tilting his head and he opens up for what he knows is coming. Opens his eyes, his mouth, his heart. This is a blessing of a rain that’s falling down on him now.

They lose track of time, their making out session prolonged by the intensity of two soul meeting and searching each other and themselves, discovering who they’ve both been all along. How in love they’ve been. It tastes sweet and salty because here and there, Dick sheds a tear or two as well. For all the time that they’ve lost. For how close they were to missing out on this completely.

They make their way to Bruce’s bedroom and every fantasy Dick has ever had comes true over the course of the day. Bruce takes him on the massive bed at the center of the room and he’s never felt so at peace, so whole. When Bruce comes inside him, he wants to savor it. Hold on to every drop. Absorb it into himself, make it his. Make them inseparable. Bruce kisses the side of his mouth sloppily, too sated to mind proper lip placement. “We are,” he says, as if he’s read Dick’s mind. 

He grins in response. “Prove it,” he puts out a dare teasingly. “Show me how you make me yours again.” Bruce is still inside him and Dick adores the fact that he can feel the man twitch in response deep within. It takes a good fifteen more minutes of lazy making out, but then Bruce picks him up, shoves them both against the door and marks Dick’s shoulder with a bite.

“Anytime,” he growls into Dick's skin before licking the sign he left there.

The next night, when Dick returns from patrol, still giddy with two entire days spent discovering every form of intimacy he never even knew could be shared, he’s only mildly surprised to get a text message with a picture of a scar-adorned torso. One that he’s gotten to explore with hands and tongue, becoming acquainted with it oh so well. He smiles and looks around the room, searching for the spot where the lighting for a photo, perhaps maybe a short clip, is the best that he can find.


End file.
